


The Last Supper

by Scarlet_Nin



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Grace is mentioned but she's a work in progress at the time, Immortal Klaus Hargreeves, Oatmeal scene, Powerhouse and stubborn Number Seven, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sweet but annoying Number Four, Temper Tantrums, Temporary Character Death, They're 4-5 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Nin/pseuds/Scarlet_Nin
Summary: Number Seven’s continuously rebellion could not be allowed to continue. Especially not over something as childish as the choice of dinner.A permanent solution needs to be found and Sir Hargreeves already had an idea. The rehiring of nannies was a temporary solution that would soon start creating more problems than solving them—it was only a matter of time until one of them would seek out Number Four.Speaking of Four, Sir Hargreeves decides to test a theory until his permanent solution would be ready. It ends as well as he expects it to.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 35
Kudos: 579





	The Last Supper

Children were a pain to deal with. Noisy and unpredictable at the worst of times.

Yet none of them proved to be quite as challenging as Number Seven.

The girl certainly had potential. With her powers, she would be a valuable asset to the team when he’d start sending them out on missions in a few years. But raw power needs to be honed into a fine sword rather than an explosion waiting to happen.

Control, Sir Hargreeves learned, was a necessary Seven lacked.

Impulsive and stubborn, the girl had a mind of her own, unwilling to heed the rules, if she found them disagreeable to her current mood. Breaking glass windows because she was pushed over accidentally by Number One, who fought hard daily to control his strength or refusing to go to bed after playtime was over.

The other children were easy enough to control. Simple instructions and tiny inklings of approval lead them to follow his words without major tantrums. Punishments of small scales reigned them into line whenever one of them overstepped.

All, but Number Seven.

Over a bowl of oatmeal, no less.

Changing the choice of dinner would be the easiest solution, yet letting the girl have her way and proving her right would send the wrong message, so it could not be allowed for him to give in to her childish tantrum.

Seven would eat her oatmeal or nothing at all.

She persisted. After the third nanny went out the window, Reginald was running out of patience. While rehiring staff was of no problem to his pockets, it was a temporary fix to their current issue that would soon start creating more problems than solving them—it was only a matter of time until one of them would seek out Number Four.

Having one of the children afraid of the other would create a rift between the team. Individual strength did not matter in the end. Their teamwork would. To prevent the apocalypse, they’d need to stand together, not against each other, so a certain amount of sentimentality and affection between them would be required and need to be nurtured in their upbringing to ensure they’d be ready when the time came.

Having the dead frighten Number Four of Number Seven could not be allowed to happen. Under no circumstances.

Which meant, a permanent solution was required to put a stop to Seven rebellion.

Of course, he already had one in mind. Seven was prone to killing her caretakers in a fit of temper, stopping them from pursuing their attempts of making her submit to the rules. A harsher approach such as enforcing stricter punishments for misbehavior at such a young age would lead to the child breaking beyond repair or damaging her mind.

Pogo insisted on a gentle approach. Reginald grudgingly respected his suggestion.

These children needed another guiding hand, supervised by him, of course, to ensure they wouldn’t grow soft. A confidant to their woes that would earn their trust and love that would serve him as an overseer and offer him insights to their loyalty and minds, his cameras and security systems could not give him.

Someone that couldn’t make decisions he disapproved of regarding his subjects. Something without sentiment that could express such feelings and that the children could love. Strong and indestructible but nurturing and gentle.

Thus, Grace was born.

Someone Seven could not kill, who could not go and speak to Number Four behind his back, to inspire fear of dangerous, hard to control Number Seven.

Speaking of Four, there was still time left for another experiment that would give him the results he needed, since Grace’s coding was another day away from being finished.

“Go on.” Reginald holds the door open for the boy.

Four nods, rushing towards the table where Number Seven is staring down at her bowl of oatmeal with a look of disgust, smiling widely. He pulls out a chair, scrapping the legs against the wooden floor to climb onto his seat.

“Four?” Seven’s quiet voice holds no signs of her initial frustration. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

She looks confused over her sudden company, glancing towards Reginald lingering in the doorway only to quickly glance back down at the table.

“It’s fine!” Four scoots closer to her, legs swinging. “Dad asked me if I wanted to come and I said yes.”

Seven frowns, “He did?”

“Uh huh.” Four nods vigorously. “I’m here to help you eat your food, so you can come and play with us. Don’t you want to play?” His bottom lip juts out and he peers into her face.

Seven stays silent.

“Five wants you to come, though he tries hard not to let it show. He’s grumpy because he misses you. Dad says you can’t leave until you eat your food.” Four tilts his head. “Aren’t you hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“So, you’re hungry?”

She pauses and nods, hiding beneath her curtain of hair.

Four blinks owlishly. “Why aren’t you eating your food then?”

“It’s gross,” Seven mumbles, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t wanna eat oatmeal.”

“But it tastes like nothing.”

Seven huffs, cheeks puffing out lightly. “It tastes like wet cardboard.”

“How’d you know what that tastes like?” Four asks, eyes wide. “Did you eat cardboard? I don’t think we can dry oatmeal, but we can reheat it, maybe?” He pokes the bowl, risking a glance at Reginald, who stays unmoving and silent. “Or not. It’s gross cold, though.”

“It’s gross anyway,” Seven says, “Soggy like vomit.”

Four’s face twists into a grimace of disgust.

“See? I’m not going to eat it.”

“But…but,” Four protests, deflating at her stubborn refusal. “Then you can’t come play with us. Come on, we all ate it. It’s not so bad when you eat it fast! You don’t even have to chew it.”

Seven looks unimpressed.

“I’d sneak some away and eat it myself but Dad would notice,” Four whispers, voice lower but still loud enough for Reginald to overhear. He sends the boy a warning glance, watching him shrink into his seat. “But Dad sees everything and I don’t wanna get punished.”

Reginald gives a sharp nod. Four relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not going to eat this.” Seven pushes her bowl away.

Four reaches for the spoon, scoping up a bit of oatmeal, holding it up with a smile. “Not even for me?”

Seven scowls, lips pressed into a thin line. The kettle begins to whistle, a sharp noise of irritation mirroring the expression on her face. “No.”

Reginald’s eyes flicker between the kettle and the children.

Four either doesn’t notice the danger he’s in or simply doesn’t care. Reginald makes a mental note to address self-preservation during training later. The boy pushes the spoon towards his sister. “One tiny little spoon? Just one?”

“No!”

Pulling his legs up onto the chair to get to his knees, Four uses the table for balance, using his hand holding the spoon to draw lines and circles in the air.

“Here comes the plane,” He sing-songs, bringing the spoon up to her lips.

Seven’s face flushes, voice breaking into a shout, “I said _no!”_

The air crackles with energy, static and hot. The kettle explodes and Four is thrown from his chair, small body flying across the kitchen space to crash into the wall with a sickening crack of a skull breaking.

His body lands in a small heap, limbs sprawled out on the floor, a smear of red left on the wall.

The boy doesn’t get back up.

Reginald crosses the distance, not sparing the girl staring with wide, horrified eyes a second glance as he rolls Four over onto his back to check his throat for a pulse. Blood pools underneath his head in a puddle and the stains would be a pain to get out of the wood.

He waits for a pulse.

Nothing.

Closing the boy’s open, unseeing eyes, he draws his hand back and stands. He checks his pocket watch, making note of the time before returning it to its place inside his pocket.

“Four?” Seven moves to stand.

Reginald raises a hand to stop her. “Number Seven, you are to remain seated at the table until you’ve eaten your meal.”

“What about, Four?” She asks, voice small and shaken. “He’s not moving—he’s hurt.”

There’s blood. A lot of blood, coming from Four’s head. That’s not good, she knows. Four’s just lying there like he’s sleeping—but Four doesn’t sleep like _that_. He doesn’t twitch or shuffle closer to anyone, or rolls from side to side like he does when she catches him napping somewhere.

Four isn’t sleeping.

Cold hands grip her heart.

Reginald’s eyes turn steely. “Number Four is dead.”

Seven flinches, face gone pale. “Dead?” She squeaks out in horror. “Like…like his ghosts?”

He’s invisible now? She’d need to get his Ouija board out of his room if that’s the case, to talk to him and apologize for turning him into a ghost.

Reginald turns to Seven, scrutinizing her. “Number Four is gone.” There was an edge to his voice Seven couldn’t place.

“Gone?” She says, face twisting in panic. What does that mean? “Gone where?”

Dread sits heavy in her stomach. Heavier than her oatmeal would’ve been.

A single eyebrow raises onto Reginald’s forehead. “I imagine to where your previous nannies went to.” He muses, unbothered.

Seven flinches, recoiling like he’d struck her across the face. She stumbles off her chair, almost tripping over her feet to reach her brother despite Reginald clearing his throat sharply.

“When is he coming back?” She hovers near the puddle of blood, watery eyes stuck on Four’s ashen face. “He’s coming back, right?”

Her nannies didn’t come back after she got mad at them. But Four…he had to return. He was one of them. She didn’t care if the nannies left her. They were annoying and pushy, trying to force her to eat oatmeal and strangers.

Four was annoying too, sometimes, but he was her _brother_.

He couldn’t go away—she doesn’t _want_ him to stay away.

Reginald doesn’t answer.

Seven sniffles, kneeling and reaching a shaky hand out towards Four’s own. “I didn’t mean to—it was an accident,” She cries, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“Number Seven,” Reginald says, “Return to your seat and finish your meal.”

She shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes with trembling shoulders.

“I won’t ask again, Number Seven.”

Rising to her feet, she walks over to her seat to sit down, head bowed and makes no move to eat. Reginald supposes the sight of her brother’s corpse might’ve ruined her appetite even if she does not understand the finality of death.

Checking his pocket watch again, it had been short of ten minutes since Number Four’s demise, he frowns.

Grace would need to clean out the blood stains as soon as she came online. The children were young, they’d get over the loss while Pogo would need time to adjust to losing a student.

At least Number Seven took well to the lesson. Losing a sibling to her temper should quell her tantrums in the future and the guilt over her actions as she grew older and understood the consequences of death would help control her powers to ease her conscience.

Writing his thoughts and the results down into his notebook, he startles when Four jerks upright with a gasp, curling into himself.

The sound of a spoon clattering onto the table shakes him out of his stupor.

“Well,” Reginald blinks in surprise, “It appears Number Four is an exception. Number Seven—” He turns to address the girl, who’s mouth has dropped open in her shock. “—had your brother been anyone else, he wouldn’t have returned. You’re not allowed to speak about this revelation with the rest of your siblings.”

Four’s head jerks up. “What—What happened? Dad?” He winces, blinking rapidly. “My head hurts,” He whines, lips quivering.

“Pogo shall tend to you soon.” Reginald puts away his pen, closing his notebook. “Go and clean yourself up, Number Four and wait for him in the bath.”

“Did Seven finish her meal?” Four picks himself off the floor, swaying slightly. He turns towards the table. “Can she come and play with us now?”

“To the bath, Number Four,” Reginald repeats firmly. Perking up like a puppy, the boy blanches at the blood on the floor, stumbling away and running for the door with his tail between his legs.

“Can I go with him?” Seven blurts out, staring at the door like she’s seconds away from leaping up and chasing after her brother.

Reginald considers her request, eyeing the tear tracks on her face. “Finish your meal first.”

Seven shovels down the oatmeal like she’s starving, foregoing her spoon halfway to rise her bowl to her lips with her hands. She finishes her meal in record time without complaints and waits to be dismissed.

He waves her away.

The other children are occupied with a substitute teacher as he goes to get Pogo. Aside from the blood loss and a headache, Number Four does not show signs of another injury. He babbles on about a girl to Number Seven as she sits with him in the infirmary, keeping hold of his hand and hanging on to his words, nodding along with rapid attention while evading questions about her distressed state.

“You’re crying, was the oatmeal that bad?”

Seven sniffles, face splotchy from her tears. “It was the worst.”

Four attempted to pull her into a hug which sent her into a fresh wave of tears. Seven was reluctant to leave him alone, interlocking their fingers and letting Four pull her around and swing their joined hands.

Pogo sent them off with a juice box each, telling them to slow down and take a break. The look he gave Reginald reeked of disapproval, but he held his tongue.

The next day when he goes to introduce Grace to Seven, her oatmeal bowl is empty.

Turns out Grace isn’t needed to tend to Number Seven’s eating troubles.

She’d serve him well enough in the future regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> Vanya: *kills nannies because she hates oatmeal*  
> Reginald: *sics child Number Four on her* What a perfect solution. Annoyingly persistent and unkillable. This ought to work.  
> Pogo: Pardon me, Sir, but what the actual fuck.  
> Klaus: *thinks of God* I made a new friend! 
> 
> I can't wait for season two!! I'm so excited to see my dumbass children in action AND we'll probably get a ton of fanfics as soon as the season is available. :D


End file.
